Understanding is when truth reaches the heart. I knew the
truth, but it never had the chance to reach my heart.
I was taught as a young child that forgiveness was
essential. I didn’t get the purpose, because no matter how many times I forgave
my brother, he still tormented me. I remember the relief I felt when I learned
that Christ taught us that we only had to "seventy times seven" times. If I
hadn’t met my quota yet, I knew I’d be there soon!
I later learned two important things 1) Christ often speaks figuratively
rather than literally; he never intended for us to stop forgiving somebody
after 490 times but to forgive endlessly, and 2) forgiveness is essential to
our happiness. I was intrigued by a news article I stumbled upon about a woman
who had forgiven the young man who had killed her son. She had let go of her
anger and basically adopted the killer as her own son, providing for a more
fulfilling life for both of them. I was amazed by her strength and wisdom.
I thought I knew all about forgiveness because it’s
generally very easy for me to forgive people if a) they’re still learning and
just made a stupid mistake, b) they didn’t realize how their actions would
inconvenience me, or c) they have a short-coming that I know about that makes
it difficult to behave appropriately.
But I recently learned that I didn’t know anything about
forgiveness.
Somebody I really trusted did something that hurt me a lot. Long
story short, it seemed like they worked hard to get to know me, made me feel
like they really cared about me, reeled me in close with artful manipulation
and a handful of lies, and hit me again and again right where I told them it
would hurt the most. And for some reason, a marginally sincere “Uh, sorry,” right
before they abandoned me in a crumpled mess on the ground just wasn’t quite
enough to make up for it.
I’d never been treated this way before. I’ve built thick
walls to keep people like this out, but this one waltzed right past my
barricade wearing the most impressive façade I’ve ever seen.
Afterward, I would be so sad during the day that I would
have random bursts of tears, and sometimes at night I would be so filled with
rage that I couldn’t sleep. I wanted to slash their tires. I wanted to tell all
our mutual friends what they’d done. I’ve never felt as much hate for anybody
as I did for this person. I desperately wanted justice. It didn’t make sense to me
that I should be so unbearably sad while they weren’t; that I was left alone
while they had somebody who cared.
And I thought the feelings would pass after a few weeks, but
they didn’t.
I had moments I thought I had forgiven them, only to fall
back into despair and rage a few minutes later. I asked God for help, but felt
like I got nothing.
I have always loved the story of Corrie Ten Boom, a
Holocaust survivor who went around teaching about endurance and forgiveness. When
she crossed paths with one of the cruelest of her Nazi captors who was
requesting her forgiveness, she paused to asked God for help. She had faith
that if she extended her hand to return his handshake, God would supply the
feeling of forgiveness. And He did.
I prayed over and over for this feeling of forgiveness, but
nothing came. I wondered if I had a romanticized understanding of what
achieving a state of forgiveness would feel like; could forgiveness possibly
coexist with the hate, sadness, bitterness, and rage I was experiencing? That
wouldn’t make any sense. Forgiveness is supposed to enable us to overcome those
negative feelings. I was so tired of being miserable and desperately wanted to
move on and be happy—but that transition seemed to be out of my reach. I had
done everything I could and God seemed pretty content to watch me get eaten
alive by my destructive emotions.
I spent an embarrassingly large amount of time considering how
I could take justice in to my own hands without spiritually disadvantaging
myself, but realized there was no possible way. Even if there were, it wouldn’t
do anything to heal my hurt, to change the past, or to better align my future.
And that frustrated me terribly.
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The only way I could win in this situation was to give it to
God. I’ve always hated when people gave me abstract advice like
that, so I’mma briefly outline what that meant for me.
I had to trust that God would handle the justice. Maybe the
desire for justice is a sign that we haven’t forgiven somebody, but knowing
that temporal and spiritual laws will be upheld is extremely important—and this
shift from my desire to handle it to mentally handing God the responsibility
was crucial for my healing.
What finally worked for me was when I came across H. Burke
Peterson’s devotional “Prayer: Try Again.” In it, he shares an experience where
there was an individual who wronged him and who he really didn’t like. He
prayed once for divine aid to forgive this man, and it didn’t work. He prayed
for a week, and it didn’t work. He prayed for months before he finally was able
to overcome his challenge. It was a gentle reminder to me that God's timeline is always the best, that there is purpose
in pain if we let there be, and that God loves us enough to let us struggle through difficult things.
I think the truth of forgiveness has gotten a little bit of
space in my heart—I am beginning to understand it a little better. I believe forgiveness
is a choice, but sometimes the feeling of forgiving somebody can only be gifted
to us from Heavenly Father. And sometimes He really makes us work for it.
I’m not sure if I’ve completely forgiven this person yet, but I
do know that I’m much closer now than I was two weeks ago. What I also know is that
forgiveness is worth it. Forgive freely, even if the offending party is
unapologetic or apathetic. If they don’t want it or don’t care, do it for
yourself. You are the cost of your grudges, and that’s an extremely high price
to pay.
